Silence
by Yellowwolf
Summary: The gaping hole inside of him where Dean should be was only getting bigger and he was left to wonder how long it would take before this emptiness consumed him completely. Takes place after the season 3 finale.


**Disclaimer: **I'm glad I don't own Supernatural because Kripke rocks!

**Author's note: **I felt like writing something sad so here it is. I just hope it actually is sad. Takes place right after Dean's dead at the end of season three.

_**Silence**_

The silence in the Impala was deafening even though the music was playing at its loudest. The music seemed distant somehow. In fact, his body didn't exactly feel like his own. He was driving on auto-pilot, speeding down country roads and highways. He didn't know where he was going, only knew that he couldn't stop. If he would, he was going to fall to pieces. He wouldn't, he couldn't. His hands clenched around the steering wheel, knuckles going white. He had the feeling that if he squeezed the steering wheel any harder, he might break it.

The sun was shining brightly through the car windows, falling down onto the skin of his hand. Somehow, he didn't feel it though. He didn't feel warmth, nor cold. He just felt … empty. The gaping hole inside of him where Dean should be was only getting bigger and he was left to wonder how long it would take before this emptiness consumed him completely. He felt hollow, broken, left behind. His father had died saving Dean, Dean had died saving him. Their mother had died in his crib. His family was dead, he was the only one left behind. How was he supposed to cope with that? How was he supposed to deal with the fact that everyone who he loved ended up dead?

This fight had cost him literally everything. He had nothing left, no friends, no family, not even a lot of money or a place to stay. He had Bobby, he knew he did but being with him made things even more unbearable. He couldn't stand being around the older hunter, afraid that he just might be the next person to die. So he had left because he couldn't deal. Perhaps it was stupid. God knew he needed someone right now but he couldn't. Couldn't handle Bobby watching him like a hawk either, waiting for an explosion, an outburst that didn't seem to come.

Burying Dean had been the hardest thing he had ever done. He had flat out refused to salt and burn his bones because he was going to find a way to bring him back. Bobby had looked at him with pity in his eyes. Sam hadn't been able to stand that look. He was going to bring him back one way or another. He was not going to let him down, not again. He had failed Dean and that knowledge hurt a lot. Too much.

If it wasn't for the fact that he was determined to bring his brother back from Hell, he would have given up on life. It was a selfish thing to do as many more people needed him but he was tired of the battle. No one could blame him for wanting an out. He'd seen far too many horrible things already.

He glanced in his rearview mirror, changed lanes and turned off the highway. The only thing keeping him from speeding was the fact that Dean had left the car in his care. He was going to take care of it until Dean's return.

The road curved to the left and was going slightly uphill. He drove by town after town, stopping only briefly to gas up, take a leak or get something to eat. He didn't eat much though. He couldn't force it past the lump in his throat that didn't seem to go away.

Night was starting to fall. He'd been on the road for more than forty-eight hours. Had slept for maybe three of those in the backseat of the Impala, praying that when he woke up, he would be in yet another dirty hotel room with Dean snoring in the bed next to his. He'd woken up to nothing.

It had been four days since Dean's death, yet it seemed like an eternity. Nausea, anger and grief washed over him. What the hell was he doing? The car screeched to a halt in the middle of the abandoned road. He'd wasted four days already. While he was feeling sorry for himself, Dean was _burning_ in hell. For him. Because of him. Dean had saved him so many times that he'd lost count. He hadn't been able to repay him. He'd gotten a year to fix his own mess and he'd failed. He'd saved so many people but he hadn't managed to save the one person that mattered most.

Sam smashed his fist against the steering wheel. Why had Dean made the deal? He knew why, of course he did. He would've done the same thing. He shouldn't have given Dean any reason to make the deal though. If only he had killed Jake, if only he'd had the guts to do it. Then his brother wouldn't have died. Then he wouldn't be in hell. Then he'd be with him, laughing, joking, on their way to another case.

Realizing he was in the middle of the road, he started the engine and drove a little further until he could park the car. He got out, slamming the door as hard as he could. The sound echoed of the nearby trees. He was vaguely aware there were picnic tables nearby, was vaguely aware of the stunning view over the city below.

His breathing came in short gasps. Tears were burning behind closed eyelids. They were going to fall, he sensed he couldn't keep them back. His fists clenched by his side when the first tear fell. He hadn't cried since Dean had died right in front of his eyes. The image of Dean being torn to shreds forced itself to the front of his consciousness. A raw cry of pain left his lips before he could even stop it.

The tears fell faster, running over his cheeks, lips, down his chin before dropping to the ground. Sobs wrecked his body. He sank down on the nearest bench, burying his face in his hands. His body shook uncontrollably.

"Dean," he whispered. His voice sounded broken, exactly like he felt. He couldn't do this on his own. He'd always had Dean to turn to, he'd always been able to ask him for help, even if he hadn't been around. He'd known Dean was just a phone call away. He felt the sudden urge to call Dean, pray that maybe somehow he could answer. He knew he couldn't though. He just wanted to hear his voice again. Wanted to imprint it in his mind so he wouldn't forget. The sound of someone's voice was always the first thing about them that would be forgotten. He didn't want that.

"Stop it!" He shouted. He _was_ going to bring back, he was going to hear his voice again. They were going to joke around again like they used to, they were going to solve cases together, they were going to be brothers again.

He involuntarily got a flashback to his time at Stanford. He'd missed his brother, a lot. He'd been happy at the chance of living his own life, of making his own decisions. He'd made friends, had even fallen in love. But he should've known that life hadn't been for him. Once a hunter, always a hunter. It was depressing but it was the truth. It wasn't like any normal job either where you could just retire and be done with it. Retired hunters still had to be on their best, always had to be careful. It was just a dreary existence. Lonely. But he'd had his brother. He'd always had Dean when his father had been away. Dean had been there to sooth away the nightmares, to promise him it was going to be okay. He'd protected him from such a young age, he'd put aside his own fears in favor of facing his. He'd always been strong even when Sam had known he was scared. He'd always been strong for him. It had made him close off emotionally. Sam had tried to break through his shell.

And had succeeded when Dean had admitted he didn't want to go to hell. He'd promised Dean he'd get him out, he'd _promised._ Dean had always kept his promises. He'd been unable to. It made him feel more than a little guilty and angry. He should've tried harder, should've done more. He should've listened to Ruby. Dean wouldn't have liked it but at least he'd still be alive. He might've lost Dean if he had allowed himself to give in to his abilities but at least he would have been safe, or at least as safe as he could be. He would've lost him but he'd be alive.

A drop hit his head. Sam's head turned skywards and more drops fell down, mingling with the salty tears still sliding down his face. The rain soaked his clothes within minutes and he started shivering. The rain was cold but it felt good. So damn good to be able to feel something.

Unable to sit still any longer, he started pacing. This _feeling _was building inside of him. It felt like an ever-growing ball of all the emotions he'd felt in the past few days. Fear, anger, agitation, determination, grief, guilt. It was all building inside of him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, it made his breathing shallow. It hurt. All of it. It _hurt_. He felt like running, running until his legs gave out and his lungs were unable to drag in enough air. The Impala stopped him from doing just that.

Instead, he raised his head up to the sky and just screamed, letting go of everything he was feeling. The scream sounded so heart-broken, so raw, so unlike anything he thought he was able to produce.

After the scream, he felt slightly better, a little more at ease. There were still too many emotions coursing through his system but determination was winning out over all of them. He strode back to the Impala and drove on. He _was_ going to bring Dean back and he wasn't going to stop until he'd found a way. Hunting be damned. Let other hunters deal with it. He had a more important task. Dean was in hell and he was going to get him out. He only had to be patient, had to keep thinking. Thinking about Dean suffering in hell wasn't going to help. He'd have to block it out, focus on finding every bit of information there was. Deals be damned. Dean was _not_ going to stay in hell.

He turned on the music. Suddenly, the Impala wasn't so quiet anymore. It was not only filled with sounds but also with hope and the image of his brother. Dean wasn't dead. He was going to be back. Sam would make it that simple.

_**The end**_

_Feedback is very much appreciated! So, what do you think? Sequel? Yes, no? I've actually got plotbunnies for a sequel. Heehee. _


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